


Vacillate

by clearwaterchild



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, First Time, Gender or Sex Swap, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, Massage, Orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearwaterchild/pseuds/clearwaterchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some pretty shameless alcohol-fueled orgiastic college AU fem!Mello/fem!Near porn. Featuring rage cage, Four Loko, massages, sexy lingerie, boring underwear, and complicated feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacillate

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. This is self-indulgence at its finest, and there is a part of me that is very, very sorry to have written it.

Mello’s not sure how she got roped into this.

Actually, fuck that. She knows exactly _how_ , she’s just a little fuzzy on the _why_.

She’s a juniorPsych major at UCLA, and as a freshman poking around the department she got herself welcomed into the craziest clique of psychologically-inclined 18-to-22-year-olds imaginable. Naturally, she fought her way to the top, and now, two years and change later, she basically runs the place. Which is good and bad, considering the circumstances. The good: she commands a pretty sizeable group of people. The bad: these people are college students, and crazy college students at that, which means they fill their spare time with some exasperatingly “only-in-college” activities.

Of which orgies are apparently one.

Mello will admit that at no point did she try and talk her friends out of this, and that she even encouraged them at times, but god damn it she thought they were _joking_. And she’s sure they were, at one point. Because who just comes out and says, “Hey guys, you know what would be great? If we all had sex,” in all seriousness? _No one_ , that’s who. But that’s what happened, and somehow someone got the idea in their head that this should actually happen. And then _everyone_ got the idea in their heads that this should happen. And Mello, caught between thinking this was the dumbest idea she’d ever heard, needing to maintain the stability of her leadership role in this clique, and admittedly _kind of_ wanting to see how this shit played out, was forced not only to participate, but also to offer up her alcohol-purchasing services as one of the only 21-year-olds in the group.

So far, this house party seems fairly normal--tame, even--for this group of people. They’re at Red’s frat, as usual. They’re playing drinking games with cheap, shitty booze, as usual. Those two kids who don’t even go here but always get invited and end up either doing coke in plain sight or drinking too much and passing out are here, as usual (thankfully, they’re drinking tonight). The two sole things differentiating this from their usual get-togethers are 1. the vanilla-cinnamon-scented candles that they’re waiting until they get to Red’s room to light, and 2. the bag of Lush massage bars someone brought “for before, or maybe after.” Both are sitting, forgotten, in a corner while they play rage cage in the living room.

 _Maybe this won’t happen_ , Mello thinks, and she feels a mix of hope and dread at the prospect.

“Mello!” Kat shouts, and Mello realizes there’s a stack of cups in front of her. She grabs the ping pong ball out of it and starts trying to bounce it into the top cup in the stack.

She’s usually so good at this, but she’s just _slightly_ too drunk to be coordinated. Beside her, Jay bounces his ball into his single cup and then, triumphantly, picks it up and places it at the top of Mello’s stack.

“Bitch cuuuuup!” the crowd around her shouts. Mello looks to the middle of the table. Sure enough, there’s only one cup left, filled to the brim with strawberry-lemonade Four Loko.

No two ways to go about it. Mello grabs the cup and starts chugging, as one must when one gets bitch cup at rage cage. A chant of “chug, chug, chug, chug,” starts up, and Mello puts her fist in the air when she finishes, receiving cheers and claps for her efforts.

She’s going to be so god damned drunk in a few minutes. It doesn’t matter.

“Massages!” someone shouts. It sounds like Red. That would make sense, since they’re doing this in his room. Maybe he’s the one who brought the massage bars.

“Massages!” the crowd repeats. They all move from the living room up the stairs to the second floor, then down the hall to Red’s room. Mello briefly wonders if they’ll all fit.

They do, comfortably. For as big as Mello likes to think this group is, there’s only so many people that can comprise a tight-knit clique, and of those, only about half of them are participating in this orgy.

People awkwardly separate into pairs, massage-receivers disrobing on their top halves. Then they run into a problem.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. There are seven people in the room, Mello notes, including her. After a second, other people notice this too.

“Three-person massage?” someone suggests. Someone else replies, “No, that’s stupid.”

Then there’s silence.

“I’m okay,” Mello says. “I should probably sit and digest for a second anyway.”

Shrugs all around, then Kat says, “Okay.”

“Take your shirt off, though,” Red says.

“Watch the candles,” Jay says. He’s got a point: burning the house down would not make for a good group sex experience.

So Mello nods and takes off her shirt, revealing the lacy black bra underneath. 

“Bra too,” Kat says, then changes her mind. “Actually, no, that bra’s cute. We’ll let it slide for now.” Let no one ever say she doesn’t dress to impress.

More awkward shrugs, and then Red decides to start massaging Lea. Then everyone else starts on their massages. Mello feels left out.

There’s an unexpected knock at Red’s door, then another awkward pause as people stop and stare at each other, nobody quite sure what to do.

Mello rolls her eyes and gets up to get the door.

“What do you wa--” she starts to say, then notices who’s standing in the hallway and changes her tone. “What do _you_ want?” She really regrets her decision to open the door in her bra.

But what can she do about it now, so. Near, that little sophomore shit who thinks she’s too good for Mello and her group, stands before her, drab-looking as always, face contorted in half-confusion, half-amusement.

“Have I interrupted something?” she asks. How did she even get into the house?

“Yes,” Mello says, and goes to close the door. “Bye.”

Near rolls her eyes. “Is Kat in there?”

“Yeah,” Kat calls. Mello resists the urge to bang her head against the door, and instead turns briefly to glare at Kat. “What?” Kat asks. “She asked. Also, I kind of...invited her?”

“You _what_.” Mello looks from Kat, to Near, to Kat again. “You. What?”

“Invited her?” Kat says in a meek voice. “I know she doesn’t really hang out with us that much, and I didn’t…” she drops her voice to almost a whisper, “I didn’t know she’d actually come…. But I mean, she’s in the department, and she’s not- she’s pretty- I mean, look at her. You can see why I’d….”

Mello groans and opens the door so Near can come in. “Fine,” she says to Kat. “You wanna fuck her, go right ahead.”

Near surveys the room. “Actually, Mello,” she says, “it appears that you’re the only un-partnered individual.”

Mello stares pointedly at Kat, who just shrugs noncommittally and says, “It’s true.”

Mello’s too drunk for this. She’s too drunk for a lot of things, but _especially_ this. Still, something surfaces from some terrible, mischievous, traitorous place deep within her mind, and her voice says, “Whatever. Fine.”

“Bra comes off,” Kat says. “Near, take your shirt off.” There’s laughter, someone passes Near half a massage bar, and then everyone goes back to what they were doing.

Mello goes to unclasp her bra, then hesitates.

“You heard her,” Near says, smirking and unbuttoning her shirt. She’s got a fucking _sports bra_ on underneath. It’s gray and plain. Mello didn’t sign up for this shit. Mello didn’t put on sexy god damned lingerie for this shit.

“Fuck off,” Mello replies. She takes her bra off anyway and lies down on her stomach. “I still hate you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. This might be cold for a second,” Near comments, and lays the massage bar on Mello’s skin. Mello hisses. It is, in fact, cold. It stops being so almost immediately, and Mello relaxes despite herself when Near starts sliding the bar up and down her back. It smells good, like cocoa.

“Move your hair,” Near says. Mello pulls her hair away from her neck so Near can get that area with the bar.

Once Near has apparently deemed that Mello’s back has been sufficiently oiled, she replaces the massage bar with her own hands. She starts with Mello’s shoulders, pushing down with her thumbs, rubbing little circles into her muscles.

“It’s all tense through here,” she says. “You’ve got a lot of knots.”

“I’m stressed a lot,” Mello says, unconsciously leaning into Near’s touch.

“Clearly.” There’s a distinct smirk in Near’s voice that rubs Mello the wrong way. Near’s hands, however, are rubbing Mello the right way, which is equally infuriating. “Enjoying this?”

Mello bites back a sigh when Near works out a knot that Mello hadn’t known had been bothering her. She really has been stressed recently. “It’s okay.”

“Of course.” Near moves her hands down Mello’s back, all light rubs and warm hands. She’s stopped working Mello’s muscles and is more just...running her hands along Mello’s skin, pressing down just enough to be stimulating.

It feels good. Mello hears a little sound escape her throat, and berates herself internally. It’s because she’s drunk, she tells herself. She’s not functioning at her full capacity.

She swears she can _hear_ Near smile.

A low moan comes from another corner of the room. Mello guesses things have started heating up. It’s only a matter of time, she thinks, before Near gets freaked out and leaves. Mello can’t really imagine Near actually wanting to be a part of something like this.

Then again, she was invited, and she showed up….

 _No_ , Mello thinks, _no, there’s no way_. She fights down the little part of her that wants to be disappointed at the thought of Near leaving, and chooses instead to be satisfied with Near’s impending discomfort. She’s so caught up in her own thoughts that she forgets to stop another hum from coming out of her mouth.

“So it’s just ‘okay,’ is it,” Near says.

“Go away,” Mello murmurs.

Then Near’s ministrations change, from relaxing to something else entirely. Her hands feel warmer against Mello’s skin, pressing and pulling in ways that make Mello think of other things those hands could do.

Mello pushes those thoughts down. Near’s going to leave in a few minutes, and Mello is happy about that.

“Mm,” she hears herself say. That bitch cup at rage cage, she thinks. It was not nice to her.

She closes her eyes and allows herself a moment of drunken weakness, enjoying Near’s hands as they move up and down her back, imagining those hands moving lower and sliding her pants down and dipping between her legs and--

“Turn over,” Near says.

Mello snaps out of her reverie. “What?”

“Turn over,” Near repeats.

Mello does, a little dazedly, trying to remember that she hates Near. She glances over at the rest of the room and finds that she and Near have become somewhat isolated from the others, who have started some sort of weird kissing game that seems to involve nudity, playing cards, and teams. She tries to decide which one she’ll join when Near inevitably leaves, but she finds that she’s becoming increasingly more disappointed at the prospect.

Near runs a hand through Mello’s hair, and leans in for a kiss. Mello returns it without thinking, then stares up at Near, baffled.  
“What….” she says.

Near shrugs. “I thought I...should,” she says, “before….”

“Before,” Mello repeats. Then Near’s hands are at Mello’s waistband, undoing the button of her pants, sliding the zipper down. Mello comes to a realization. “Oh.”

Near stops. “Oh?”

“Nothing.” Mello lifts her hips and lets Near help her out of her pants. She’ll admit it, she’s a little stunned. A little stunned, and a lot drunk, and more turned on than she should be.

“They match,” Near notes. Mello looks down. Yes, she thinks. She matched her bra and panties for the orgy. This is not a difficult task.

Though she supposes it may be, for weak people who wear sports bras. And even in her drunken haze, she understands that her unspoken comment is not as sick of a burn as she wants it to be.

“Could you put your bra back on?” Near asks.

Mello stares. “Why?” she asks, feeling suddenly self-conscious. _What’s wrong with my boobs?_

“I like it when things match,” and Near says it like it’s so obvious, and Mello remembers, in sudden sharp detail, her passionate hatred for this girl.

She grabs her bra and puts it back on, though, because she put effort into her appearance tonight and she’ll be damned if she lets that effort go to waste.

Near pulls away for a second. Her eyes roam over Mello’s body, and Mello feels the urge to cover herself under the weight of Near’s gaze. Then Near bites her lower lip, subtlely, and Mello realizes that Near’s not judging, she’s... _appreciating_.

 _Fuck_.

“You look nice,” Near says.

“Of course I do,” Mello says. “I look amazing.”

Near rolls her eyes and smiles. “You do.”

And that sets Mello on edge, because she was expecting a rebuke, or an insult, but instead she got agreement. Fuck that.

Near’s fingers play at the waistband of Mello’s sheer lace panties, and Mello forgets what she was thinking about. The fingers go lower, not pulling the panties off but dipping inside them, sliding down Mello’s pubic hair, then even lower, circling her pussy with no friction.

“You’re wet,” Near comments.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Mello mumbles, turning away to hide how her face heats up. She is wet. Practically dripping, in fact, and she wishes Near would just _get on with it_ instead of _commenting on it_ , but she doesn’t say so, for whatever reason.

Near gets on with it soon enough anyway. After teasing Mello just a little longer, she slides two fingers into her. Mello can’t help the moan that tears its way out of her throat.

“Oh,” Near says as though she’s discovering something for the first time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mello gasps when Near starts massaging her G-spot. “God. Jesus. Fucking.” She hears Near chuckling and covers her mouth with her hand, stopping at least the words from escaping. “Mmm.”

Near explores for a while before settling into a rhythm, fast and hard, two fingers working Mello’s G-spot and her thumb rubbing Mello’s clit, and Mello tries to be quiet, but she can’t. Her hand falls away from her mouth, and as the heat and pressure build in her groin she hears herself spouting a constant embarrassing stream of “oh God, oh God, harder, Near, fuck, oh my God, right there, fuck, God, Near, oh my Jesus _fuck_ , _oh_ , _fuck_.”

She comes gasping and moaning and thrashing, completely undone. As she tries to recover from her orgasm, she hears an unsettling silence descend around her.

“First one of the night,” someone says, and then there’s hooting and snapping and Mello’s face burns.

Near wipes her hand on her shirt and looks at Mello with a strange expression on her face. She doesn’t say anything, just leans in for another kiss, soft and inappropriately chaste given the situation. She moves away too soon, and Mello puts a hand on the back of her neck to draw her back in, pulling her down into a kiss more befitting a drunken orgy, all clacking teeth and sloppy tongue and slow lip-biting.

Near wipes her mouth after the kiss, smiling but shaking her head. “You’re drunk,” she says.

Mello takes that as an affront to her kissing skills, but Near doesn’t seem to have meant it as one. And Mello is drunk, that’s true, so she just rolls her eyes and doesn’t say anything about it. She does sit up and pat the floor next to her, gesturing for Near to lie down.

Near does, though a little hesitantly. “I’ve never done this before,” she muses softly, still wearing that strange expression.

Mello snorts despite the fact that she feels a little uncomfortable with the sudden conversation. “What? Never been in an orgy before? I don’t think any of us have.”

Near looks at Mello pointedly. “Never had sex,” she says, and Mello feels the situation change.

“Never?” she asks for pointless clarification.

“Never.”

And then, just after Mello gets hit with the unfathomable weight of drunkenly taking the virginity of someone she hated not half an hour ago--and may in fact still hate--she’s struck with the sheer ridiculousness of this whole ordeal, and despite the unease and rising pressure she feels, she starts laughing.

“What?” Near asks a little indignantly.

“You’re losing your virginity at an orgy. That’s so...don’t you think that’s….” But Mello’s laughing too hard to finish her sentences, so she settles with, “It’s odd.”

Near exhales through her nose. “I’m sure it’s very funny to you,” she says, “but it’s somewhat scary to me. I just thought you should know. You were looking at me weird.”

“You were looking at _me_ weird,” Mello counters. 

“And now you know why.”

Mello feels a deep swell of emotion attempt to rise up from her gut. She forces it down, but her heart still beats like she’s just run a race. _Pressure’s on._ A question pops into her mind, and she uses it to stall for time. “Wait,” she says, “if you’re a virgin, how are you so good at…?”

“I didn’t know I was,” Near says. “I work with my hands? And in any case, I’m not good at kissing.”

Mello doesn’t press the subject. She takes Near’s pants off and discovers that Near’s panties are just as gray, just as plain, and just as boring as her sports bra--and that they do, in fact, match. It’s only fitting, and Mello discovers upon taking in Near’s half-naked body that she doesn’t mean that in a bad way. It _sounds_ bad, sure, but non-boring undergarments would look terrifyingly out of place on Near. These...work, somehow.

“What’s wrong?” Near asks.

“Nothing,” Mello murmurs. “Take off your bra.”

She does, and Mello reaches out to cup her small breasts in her hands. She plays with Near’s nipples, rolling them lightly between her fingertips, and gets a little eyelash flutter and a subdued gasp for it.

“I like that,” Near breathes, and Mello doesn’t even feel like pointing out that she could tell. She brings her mouth down to one nipple and sucks at it, then runs her teeth over it, not hard enough to cause pain, not even hard enough to really register as teeth, just enough to tickle. Near squirms.

Mello moves, leaving a trail of wet kisses down Near’s chest and stomach, then stopping when she reaches Near’s gray, boring panties. She hooks a finger into the waistband and looks up, making sure she has eye contact.

She licks her lips.

“Oh,” Near says quietly.

Mello slowly slides Near’s panties off, hands shaking slightly, then, maintaining eye contact, starts flicking her tongue against Near’s clit.

Near bites her lip and makes possibly the smallest sound known to man. Mello realizes with a stunning force that she really, really wants to hear more of those small sounds.

Mello breaks the eye contact to focus more on what she’s doing. She takes Near’s clit into her mouth and laves her tongue over it, then maneuvers herself so she can put two fingers into Near’s pussy. Near gasps when Mello’s fingers enter her, but she doesn’t moan.

She doesn’t vocalize much at all, actually. It makes it hard to figure out what she likes, but Mello manages it anyway. She tries a bunch of different things, learning to adapt to Near’s far-less-vocal body language. A gasp here, a twitch there, hitched breaths, tensed muscles. It’s definitely a more subtle language than the one Mello’s body speaks, but it’s still very communicative.

And even in those moments when it isn’t, Near herself is. “That’s good,” she murmurs when Mello speeds up her tongue and slows down her fingers. Near doesn’t need _much_ G-spot pressure, Mello learns, but she does need _constant_ pressure, and Mello gives it to her, slow and steady, tongue working fast and light against her clit.

Near comes quietly and without fanfare, clenching down on Mello’s fingers, letting out sharp, cut-off breaths, arching her back. Nobody else in the room notices or comments, and Mello feels outdone. Then again, she supposes it’s for the better. Near doesn’t need a whole orgy’s worth of people celebrating her first time having sex.

Or maybe she does, Mello doesn’t know. She _did_ willingly participate in this, after all.

Near doesn’t look too put out at the lack of public acknowledgement of her orgasm. In fact, she looks somewhat relieved. She shifts to a sitting position and brings a hand up to twirl a lock of her hair. Her eyes meet Mello’s, and they share a moment of ridiculous silence, searching for words. The silence is punctuated by the sounds of the continuing orgy going on not eight feet away from them.

“Did you…” Mello starts to ask, and then realizes it’s stupid. She tries again. “Are you…” Damn, this is hard. What, exactly, do you say? “Was it a good first time?” God damn it.

Near looks just as flustered as Mello feels. “It was,” she says. “I should go, though.” She starts redressing.

“You don’t have to,” Mello hears come out of her own mouth, and did she really just say that? Shit. She’d like to go curl up and die now.

Near fumbles with putting her bra back on. “I want to,” she says. “I’d like some time to reflect on what just happened.”

“Yeah,” Mello replies, feeling a little silly for this whole thing taking place. She also admittedly feels relieved that Near seems to be having some complicated feelings. She’s glad she’s not the only one. “I’m gonna...tap out...for a while, too.”

Near nods. “I can’t wear my shirt,” she says, looking a little sheepish. “Do you have something I could borrow?”

Mello hands Near the shirt she was wearing earlier. “I’ll just wear my jacket over my bra,” she says. “Like a fashion statement.”

“That would certainly make a statement,” Near says, putting the shirt on. “How should I get this back to you?”

 _You can keep it_ , Mello wants to say, to avoid that future interaction--maybe to avoid _all_ future interactions--but unfortunately, this is one of her favorite shirts. She really would like to get it back. “I’ll give you my number,” she says.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Near pulls her phone out, Mello recites her number, Near takes it down. They agree to meet in a couple of days so Near can return Mello’s shirt, and then Near leaves. Mello watches her go feeling a swirling mix of emotions, the most prominent of which is a vague sense of unease. She’s still reeling from this whole encounter. She doesn’t know how to feel about it, and her only consolation is that Near doesn’t know how to feel about it either.

“Mello?” Kat’s voice comes from across the room. “Are you coming back to the…?”

“In a second,” Mello says. “I’m gonna go get some water. I’ll be right back.” She pulls a blanket around herself and steps out into the hallway, sitting down against the wall right outside the door instead of heading to the bathroom for water. She sits and stares at the wall, letting her thoughts run unencumbered and unfinished in her head, for a few minutes.

Then the door opens, and Kat pops her head out.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

Mello takes one last look down the hallway where Near left. “Fine,” she says. “I just needed a second.”

“Come join us,” Kat says. “At least, come back inside. I’m sure people would be a little spooked to see a naked girl in a blanket just sitting here.”

Mello half-laughs. “Sure,” she says. She stands up, brushes herself off, and heads back into the room.

 


End file.
